He lasted seven songs. “You touch the playlist this time,” he warned, dead serious, “and I’ll throw your phone out the fucking window.”
I’m definitely touching the playlist again. I head back to my room, the second the door closes behind me, I grab my overnight bag from under the bed.
Not because I’m desperate. Okay, maybe a little. Not in a bad way just enough that I notice it. Enough that I feel the need to say I’m not, which probably means I am.
But she said she wants to see me, and that’s all it takes. I toss in a couple T-shirts, clean sweats, backup charger, deodorant and I throw in a hoodie too, just in case she wants to steal it.
When I finally convince myself I have everything I need I zip the bag up, I’m grinning like an idiot and completely failing at pretending I’m not already in road trip mode. I grab my phone and open the group chat.
Me:good night, don’t forget to pack a toothbrush Tate
Haven:wait, Tate’s coming too?
I pause mid-text, waiting for him to answer. It takes a second.
Tate:am i allowed to bring rope or is that gonna ruin the “supportive visit” vibe
Me:rope??
Haven:oh my god
Tate :that’s not a no
Me:goodnight, both of you
Haven:sweet dreams
Tate:mine will be
I groan, flip my phone face-down on the nightstand. God help me. I shut off the lamp, but I can’t sleep, so I lay there in the dark, one arm folded behind my head, the other clutching my phone as if it might steady the nerves crawling just beneath my skin. The screen stays dark, no new messages, just the faint tickof my clock and the soft whoosh of night air filtering through the cracked window.
Tomorrow, I’ll see her again. It’s only been a few weeks, not a long time in the grand scheme of things. Truthfully somehow, it feels like longer. Like we hit pause, and I’ve been hovering in the loading screen, waiting for whatever comes next. Here’s the truth—the part I haven’t said out loud. I’m scared. Not of the drive, not of Tate act like a cryptic in the passenger seat for fifty miles.
I’m scared that something’s changed. That being with us, with me, in person again will feel different now. Too big and too complicated. Time has a funny way of twisting things. I’m scared she’ll look at me and realize she doesn’t need me the way I need her. God, I hate that thought. I squeeze my eyes shut, try to let it go. Count backwards from ten. Try to breathe like a normal person. This is dumb. I know it’s dumb. I’m getting worked up over something that hasn’t even happened yet.
I’ve had a lot of people drift in and out of my life, Haven crashed into it like a fucking comet. Bright and unpredictable. I roll onto my side, staring at the faint moonlight crawling across the floorboards.
My chest tightens. I’ll be fine. I always am, I just hope when I see her, she smiles at me the way she did the first time we met.
8
Haven
Sprawled out on my couch, my apartment looks like I rage-quit life halfway through cleaning. My setup’s still cluttered from last night’s stream, my mouse half-balanced on my keyboard and empty snack wrappers shoved behind my monitor. I barely have time to even start a plan before the sound of my front door distracts me.
Cassie lets herself in without knocking just to pause in the doorway and wince before she says a word. “…So this is how we’re greeting company now?”
I glance up from the couch. “I’ve been busy.”
She lifts a brow and plops down beside me. “Is the busy part where Carter and Tate are coming over again and you didn’t warn me?”
“You knew they were coming eventually.”
“Yeah, but like, today?”
“Yes,” I say, grabbing my water bottle and trying not to sit back down on a pile of throw blankets. “I’ve only known since yesterday anyways.”
“So what you’re saying is, you’ve only had a full 24 hours to spiral again? Impressive.”
